


Songs I Wrote About You

by Patcho418



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, In which Korra plays in a rock band, Jealousy, Maybe - Freeform, Musicians, Probably a lil bit of smut, Questioning, and Asami is a mechanic whose business is failing, the band is the Fire Ferrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: Her teeth press together, and then there’s a crash of a cymbal: that’s her cue. She curls her fingers around the fretboard of her guitar as she takes a step back from the mic and begins her solo with a fiery riff, hot and dangerous and full of energy. The crowd roars with just as much fire and energy as she offers them before she brings herself and the music back for a moment. A pause, a moment to breath after that explosion of sound. A moment to reel in the way her head floats in clouds before she brings back the sound like a wave, building up and crashing over them deafeningly. Sweat beads down her face and neck, soaking through the fabric of her tank top and stinging the corners of her eyes. A steady drumbeat keeps her grounded as she powers through the rest of her solo and rumbles beneath her planted feet, the sole support she can firmly grasp onto in this frenzy of sound and motion and light.All her life, Korra's been certain about a lot of things: her music, her career, herself, and after meeting the beautiful and kind mechanic Asami Sato, she's certain she's not falling in love...right?





	1. Nights Like Tonight (Mornings Like Tomorrow)

It’s nights like tonight where Korra feels at her strongest.

Stage lights beam down on her, casting long dark shadows behind her while bathing her face in their intense glow. Every speck of dust, every bead of sweat flicked from her hair, every spray of spit that passes her lips with every sung word, all of it empowers her, fuels her. She can’t help but love being on stage.

The shadow of her audience bobs like a dark wave. She can’t make out any faces, but she doesn’t need to see their expressions to know how much they’re loving the show; their whoops and cries and cheers are enough. A smirk creeps across her lips, excitement building in her gut for what she knows is everyone’s favourite part.

Her teeth press together, and then there’s a crash of a cymbal: that’s her cue. She curls her fingers around the bridge of her guitar as she takes a step back from the mic and begins her solo with a fiery riff, hot and dangerous and full of energy. The crowd roars with just as much fire and spirit as she offers them before she brings herself and the music back for a moment. A pause, a moment to breath after that explosion of sound. A moment to reel in the way her head floats in clouds before she brings back the sound like a wave, building up and crashing over them deafeningly. Sweat beads down her face and neck, soaking through the fabric of her tank top and stinging the corners of her eyes. A steady drumbeat keeps her grounded as she powers through the rest of her solo and rumbles beneath her planted feet, the sole support she can firmly grasp onto in this frenzy of sound and motion and light.

She comes out of her solo with one final raucous chord, her skin on fire and her face wet from the exertion, and she’s greeted by an equally raucous applause that prompts a grin to spread across her lips. The drum and bass continue behind her and she steps back up to the mic, returning to the simpler chords of the refrain, her voice scratchy as she repeats the chorus’ lines alongside the music.

The Fire Ferrets make it through their set with wet shirts clinging to their backs and voices hoarse as they call out to their cheering audience their thanks and their love and their admiration. Korra scans the crowd, making out nothing but shadows bobbing up and down in the dense venue. Maybe she should be looking more carefully for something specific, like green eyes or dark lips or—

Korra spots her stuck between several people, seemingly a little bothered by the density of the crowd before catching Korra’s gaze and smiling kindly. Korra smiles back, charming and lopsided, and tosses her pick toward her.

Of course someone else catches it, someone random and way too excited and really not who Korra was aiming for, but she puts on a face, gives the woman a wink, and as she turns her attention elsewhere she swears she can see her fan foaming at the mouth out of the corner of her eye.

The band heads off-stage behind the single black curtain, the high of a solid performance filling their lungs with laughter. This is how it always is: they play their music with passion and intensity, they enchant their audience into applause after applause, and then they laugh it all off backstage before heading out for drinks (or in the case of tonight, accept some drinks on the house from the bar owner).

“Korra, that solo was fricking awesome!” Bolin whoops as he squeezes past her. “Like, not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure my own pants were on fire that was so hot!”

Korra chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s how that works, Bolin.”

“You tell that to my pants!”

Mako rolls his eyes. “C’mon, bro, don’t be weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Korra begins defensively; so it’s gonna be one of those nights.

“Whatever,” Mako cedes, clearly not up to the challenge Korra is so unabashedly issuing. “Let’s just get that drink.”

He turns from Korra and Bolin, flipping the collar on his leather jacket with extra moody attitude, and begins towards the instrument cases, idly plucking the strings on his bass.

Korra pouts. “What’s his deal?”

“Oh, he probably noticed that girl you invited to the show tonight,” Bolin mentions nonchalantly.

“Wait, you mean Asami?” Korra says incredulously, immediately peeking back out past the curtain. Asami, the mechanic who basically saved Korra’s life (she may be exaggerating a _bit_ there). She’d caught Korra in the middle of the road struggling with her old junky Civic and offered to take a look at her car and maybe fix whatever the problem was. She’d said it was nothing, and Korra believed her—she definitely wasn’t any kind of car know-it-all.

_“I can fix it up for you tonight, if you want!” Asami told her with rock-star confidence. “Have it all ready to go by tomorrow.”_

_Korra let out a deep, relieved exhale. “Thank god, you are an absolute life-saver! I’d absolutely rather not bus to the show tomorrow night.”_

_Asami chuckled and leaned against the hood of the car, and holy was it ever a good look for her, Korra could swear she belonged on some kind of mechanic shop billboard. If Korra ever looked that good, she would absolutely flaunt it._

_“I’ll get you my fee.” Then, with an all-too-playful wink: “Don’t worry, there’s a ‘first-time customer’ discount.”_

_“Are you sure?” Korra asked. With how the shop looked, and with very few workers as it were, Korra could guess Asami’s business wasn’t exactly in full-throttle._

_Her concern was probably pretty obvious, since Asami’s expression softened for a moment. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I want to give you a discount.”_

_Korra exhaled again. “You’re too kind. Maybe I’ll have to wreck my car more often.”_

_“It’s a Civic,” Asami said with a teasing smirk. “It’ll probably wreck itself soon enough.”_

_That was the first someone had ever made Korra laugh as hard as she did. Usually rewatching vine compilations or getting cringey memes from Bolin could get a chuckle out of her, but never hard enough to make her slam back against her own car and clutch her jaw to try and stifle her laughter._

_Asami joined her at her side, laughing lightly to herself. “Usually my jokes don’t exactly land with people.”_

_“Yeah, well, apparently you know my car better than I do,” Korra joked, then paused as an idea passed through her mind. “Hey, you wanna see our show tomorrow? I can pay your door fare if you want.”_

_“Really?” Asami’s eyes went wide, then her face fell. “That’s so generous, but I probably shouldn’t.”_

_“No, I insist!” Korra pressed as she leaned closer (Wow, Asami’s eyes were a really nice green). “It’s the least I can do for you for fixing my car at a discount!”_

Korra spots Asami now standing at the bar, leaning forward and curving her lips into a far-too-sweet smile. “Why would he be upset about her?”

Bolin pauses expectantly, his brows furrowed as his bottom lip pressed forward, and when Korra doesn’t answer he tosses his drumsticks into the air. “Because he’s jealous, obviously!”

Korra reels back. “Jealous? Why the hell is he jealous? We broke up, like, months ago!” Then, she thinks, and she frowns, and then she adds in a low voice: “Besides, Asami’s not really my type.”

“Insanely gorgeous, incredibly kind, and also tall? Did I mention tall? Oh, yeah, I’m sure I just did!” Bolin shoots back.

“I meant I’m not into girls, Bolin! Just ‘cause you’re bi doesn’t make everyone else.” There's a bit of extra fire in her voice, but she's able to douse it fairly quickly.

Still, her tone doesn't faze Bolin, and he snaps a clever smirk her way. “No, but my bi-dar hasn’t been wrong before, Korra!”

Korra rolls her eyes. “There’s a better word for that, you know.”

Bolin raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just tryna be inclusive!”

“Right,” Korra says before pressing her lips together and sighing through her nose. “Let’s just get those drinks. I don’t wanna leave Asami alone for too long with Mako headed that way.”

“Pfftt! He’d probably bump into her cause he’s too busy brooding and then try and blame her for being in his way!”

Korra unslings her guitar and places it in her case before pulling on her jacket—worn denim with way too many patches sewn onto the sleeves—and heading through the door just as—

“I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, you should be! You just got booze all over my jacket!”

Korra grimaces; sometimes she and Bolin are just way too good at predicting Mako’s behaviour. She rushes over as Asami frantically pats down his jacket with some paper towels, repeating quiet apologies as Mako stands still with a sour look on his face.

When Asami finishes, she offers an apologetic look to Mako that immediately makes Korra rush just a little faster. “Here, let me buy you a drink.”

“Don’t need one.” Mako is still pouting, and Korra can’t help but think about what a hothead he is.

When Korra’s close enough to them that she can be heard over the crowds and music, she waves and calls out: “Hey! So I guess you’ve met Asami now?”

Mako’s fiery eyes snap to Korra. “Well duh, she just spilled a drink on me.”

“Hey, I said I was sorry!” Asami shoots towards him, her lips pulling into a frustrated frown.

“Maybe if you paid more attention to where you were going you wouldn’t have gotten drink spilled all over you!” Korra says with bite in her tone.

Mako steps forward and opens his mouth to say something, but Korra mirrors him with the same stubbornness in her expression. It’s too easy to fight with Mako, too easy to get wrapped up in petty disagreements that go up in flames and torch the world around them. She can already sense the spark of a fight between them, and while she usually knows better than to let herself give into her instincts there are times where it’s just so _tempting_.

Mako growls and steps away, ceding first again. “You don’t want me around? Fine. I’m out of here!”

“Good!” Korra snaps. “Go ruin someone else’s night!”

Mako does as he says and saunters towards the door, hands in his pockets, head drooping low, his steps quick and heavy.

When he’s gone, Korra turns to Asami and breathes an extremely heavy sigh. “Sorry you had to see that. Mako’s usually…” She can’t really bring herself to lie, not to Asami, so she shrugs sheepishly and opts for something else. “Did you at least like the show?”

“Did I like it?” Asami begins, and Korra’s so relieved that they’re not going to dwell on what just happened. “Korra, that was the best show I’ve seen!”

Korra’s eyes light up. “Really? Well, thanks! That was just our regular set, nothing special.”

Asami shakes her head and takes a step toward her (should Korra step back? Give her room? She definitely doesn’t want to). “You were on fire up there! You’re incredible at guitar, every time you had a solo I think I just tuned everything else out and listened to you!”

“Thanks,” she repeats, and can’t help but blush at the compliment.

“And what did you think of the drums?”

They both turn to meet Bolin as he leans coolly (or as cool as Bolin can be) against the bar, a bottle of beer dangling between his fingers.

Asami giggles. “Pretty amazing, too.”

Bolin bows theatrically. “Why thank you, Ms. Asami, was it?”

“Asami Sato, that’s me. And you must be Bolin, of course.” Asami extends her hand for Bolin to shake.

“Ms. Asami Sato: a most gorgeous name for a most gorgeous woman!” Korra stifles a smirk; normally most people are put off by forced theatrics like this, but Bolin’s always had a way of making them endearing. Maybe his musical theatre background? Maybe his general air of innocence? If there’s one thing she agrees with Mako on, it’s that this is a total mystery.

Asami purses her lips quizzically. “So what’s next for you guys, then?”

“Probably go home to Pabu and watch Netflix after this drink,” Bolin mentions casually. “You know, I used to like staying out after shows, but these days I think I’m just too old for that.”

“You’re twenty-two!”

“And definitely feeling it!” Bolin shoots back as he stretches his arms out. “Plus, I don’t trust Mako with Pabu for more than an hour at a time so I’ll probably have to leave eventually.”

“I meant, like, for the band,” Asami corrects with a smirk.

At that, Bolin places his drink down maybe a bit too hard and an expression of wonder spreads across his face. “Oh! Korra’s writing a song! That’s something new!”

Korra hides her embarrassed blush behind her drink as she takes a sip, wondering why she’s so shy about her projects when normally she knows she’ll gladly talk someone’s ear off about them. “Yeah, it’s…it’s kind of my first original for the group.”

Asami’s matches Bolin’s expression as she holds her drink in both hands. “Really? That’s so cool! What’s it about?”

“It’s a tribute song to my favourite band. Do you know ‘Team Avatar’?”

“You mean my dad’s favourite band?” Asami jokes, then goes silent for a moment.

Almost immediately, Korra worries she might have said something, and she puts her drink down. “Sorry, did I say something?”

“No, it’s fine!” Asami insists with a kind smile as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and Korra knows when not to press. “I know them, yeah. They must be pretty special to you if you’re writing a tribute!”

Though, maybe against her better judgement, Korra wants to know. Maybe one day she’ll know, though maybe one day she won’t even be talking to Asami, and wanting to know everything in one night is maybe a bit too much for the beginning of a friendship.

“Yeah,” she begins. “I used to know Aang, actually. Long story short, he’s the reason the Fire Ferrets even exist, really.”

“Hey, uh, I’d like some credit here, too!” Bolin chimes in with a raised hand.

“Okay, Aang and Bolin are the real reason the Fire Ferrets exist.”

“That’s…actually pretty incredible!” Asami says; Korra swears for a moment she also tucks her bottom lip under her teeth, and it's a little too captivating for her not to stare at her lips.

There’s that blush again, and Korra tries again to hide it by taking another sip of her drink. She’s so used to praise from her parents holding her up as a prodigy, or from Bolin revelling in her talent as a guitarist and singer, and even her landlord Tenzin sometimes goes out of his way to compliment her.

She takes another look at Asami, an innocent and invested smile crossing her lips. She follows the trail of her soft green eyes, darting left to right to maintain eye contact with Korra and occasionally slipping just below her eye level.

Her grip on her bottle loosens slightly and she can feel any tension or anxiety she may have been holding in ease up; even her jaw unclenches as her lips pull into an easy smile, and Korra can’t quite remember the last time it’s ever felt easy to smile.

She’s not quite sure how long she stays like that, but it’s long enough for Bolin to finish his drink and slide the bottle to the bartender along with a five-dollar bill.

“Keep the change,” he says with a wink.

“It was on the house,” the bartender replies despite reaching for the bill anyways.

Bolin’s cheesy, theatrical smile loosens up and takes on a more earnest air. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.” He slides off of the stool and nods to Korra. “I’m gonna pack our stuff up and see if I can catch up with Mako before he tries walking all the way home. If you want there’s enough room in the van for your guitar, too. I can take it back for the night!”

Korra raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Bolin absolutely says with a reason in mind. “You just let me handle it, and you can pick her up in the morning!”

Bolin's not subtle. He's never _ever_ been subtle, and Korra can tell that he's up to something. Still, she absolutely can’t say no to Bolin’s offer, one he’s made a few times before, and he has proven to be trustworthy with her baby (her guitar, and everyone else is only allowed to call it that).

“Alright, but if you hurt a single string on her body, just remember that I know where you live.” Korra’s threat is obviously a joke, one that Bolin quickly takes in stride, but he’s one of few people who isn’t immediately threatened by her, her tone, or her biceps.

“You leave it to me and remember to have fun tonight, kay?” With that, Bolin gives a quick bow to Asami, accompanied by a genuine smile and an “I hope to see you around!” that she smiles in response to, before he walks backward towards the stage door, obnoxiously wiggling his eyebrows at Korra before disappearing behind the door.

When he’s completely out of earshot, Korra looks to Asami again. “And that was Bolin.”

“So, are he and Mako…?”

“Brothers,” Korra confirms, then adds with a shrug: “Bet you probably have a preference, right?”

Asami hums quietly to herself a moment as her fingers wrap firmly around her glass. “Well, I may be biased towards the one that didn’t yell at me.”

“Figures,” Korra jokes, and once again the two of them are laughing side by side at a joke that Korra knows shouldn’t be as funny as it is and yet still laughing just comes so easy to her right now. She takes a quick look at the drink in her hand—empty—and figures it must the alcohol getting to her, which doesn’t stop her from asking the bartender for another.

She can’t quite put her finger on it, but talking to people has never been so easy for her except in this one, weird case. Friends didn’t come easy growing up—in fact, she beat a lot of them up at one point or another—and even when she knew Aang, they mostly played music rather than talk about it. Aang! Even her own idol was hard to talk to sometimes! How can talking to Asami, a girl she met yesterday, be so _simple_?

And it’s just that: it’s simple. Even when Asami smiles at her, she knows she’s listening intently, patiently, and when Asami talks it’s like Korra knows exactly what to say in response, follows like she’s known Asami longer than she has, like she understands her interests and insight like something she’s understood forever.

Korra doesn’t realise immediately how long she’s been staring at Asami, smiling with no other reason than just being content. She also doesn’t realise right away that in that silence, Asami’s already finished her drink as well.

Almost immediately, Korra shakes herself back to reality. “Here, let me get you another!”

“You sure?” Asami begins to refuse, but Korra’s friendly nod is apparently enough to convince her. “Thank you.”

“No problem, I’ve got gig money. I mean, it can’t be easy running a business on your own, I imagine,” Korra replies as the bartender turns to prepare Asami’s drink, then pauses when she realises what she’s just said. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean like—”

“No, you’re right,” Asami interrupts, no malice in her tone, just understanding. She waits for a moment for her drink (Korra waits, too) and takes a sip before continuing. “I mean, money is hard enough to come by, but it’s never been this tight before. I guess that’s what happens when no one wants to be associated with the Sato name anymore.”

“It can’t be all bad, can it?” Korra interjects. ( _‘I mean, you’re Asami Sato, and you’re far from bad’_ is what she stops herself from adding, something she’ll think about another time.)

Asami chuckles nervously. “No, it’s bad. I honestly don’t blame people for giving up on us. I mean, it’s not like my dad was exactly the most upstanding citizen.” Her eyes dip to her glass and hover there, her lips on the edge of a frown. “But that doesn’t exactly mean I’m going to let it stay this way.”

Korra nods sympathetically, and somehow she knows exactly what it is that Asami’s talking about, recognizing that stubbornness in her unwavering voice and her emerald eyes. Somehow she gets that stubborn resolve, and for once it’s something she admires.

“Fuck, I’m barely two drinks in and I’m already oversharing!” Asami says as her head dips low to meet her glass.

“Whoa, now, didn’t take you for a sailor mouth!” Korra jokes.

“What, just 'cause I’m a pretty face?”

“Well, no, 'cause…” There’s a pause as Korra searches for the actual reason, and yeah, it’s exactly like Asami says.

Asami takes another sip. “Would it surprise you to know I also have, like, five tattoos?”

“Okay, now this I’ve got to see!” Korra laughs and okay so her mind does wander a bit, can she be blamed for being curious?

“Well, rock star, play your chords right and you just might,” Asami makes out through slowly slurring words.

“You mean ‘cards’, right?”

“I meant what I said.” She turns away from Korra for a moment before glancing at Korra out of the corner of her eyes and smirking. “You’re not tired of those lame jokes yet, are you?”

Korra smiles. “Keep ‘em coming!”

*

Korra wakes to the smell of lavender, and it takes a few groggy seconds for her to realise something’s out of place.

She turns in her bed, moaning into her pillow as she pulls the blankets over her shivering body and wondering where that smell came from. She can’t complain, not really, when usually when she wakes up it’s to the sound of car horns or children running down the hallway or the smell of last night’s sweaty laundry permeating the air, begging to just be washed already.

But it’s not her normal wake-up, and when she’s able to open her eyes and register her surroundings, everything clicks into place, memories of last night still blank in her mind but there enough to clue her into the truth.

She anxiously turns over in the bed to see what she’s sure must be there— _who_ she’s sure must be there, only to discover she’s completely alone in someone else’s bed and still very much in last night’s sweaty, laundry-ready clothes.

A too-quick turn of her head is enough to send a horrendous, earthy pounding straight through her brain, and she cradles her head as she lets the migraine settle momentarily. She’s used to hangovers, to the pounding of drums persisting from the night before. It doesn’t make it any easier when she gets them.

Her actions are slow: she sits up properly, lets the second mini-migraine settle, slides out of the bed and onto wooden flooring, realises how cold it is and grabs the thick blanket off of the bed, wraps herself in it, and looks around the room.

Asami’s room.

Clearly, that’s whose room it is. She’s smart enough to put two and two together, two and two being the amount of blueprints plastered to the wall with bright red marker scoring every page, the work desk under the window with a far-too-high stack of papers sitting beside a half-finished bottle of Jack Daniels, and the obvious hint of the several photos of Asami and who she can only assume to be family and friends pinned against the windowsill.

Korra wanders over towards the desk, her curiosity clouding her judgement, and she begins scouring the contents. The Jack Daniels, obviously, she moves aside to take a better look at the stack of papers.

Ledgers.

Legal documents.

Contracts.

 _She’s incredible,_ Korra thinks where normally she might use the word ‘boring’. She can’t bring herself to think that of Asami, even if the paperwork isn’t exactly thrilling.

She’s shuffling through some of the scattered ones—more ledgers and contracts—when she stops on a more interesting pack of papers stapled together. She’d recognise university admission forms anywhere, mostly since they’re always so wordy and pretentious, but she recognises them.

_**Asami Sato,  
Congratulations on your acceptance into the N.A.T. Faculty of Engineering for the Fall study term of—** _

“2015?” Korra reads aloud, surprise in her tone. Obviously, that’s a typo. Or the more obvious answer is that Asami is just keeping hold of her old college papers to shred someday. Or the really obvious answer is that— 

Her head throbs again with a solid pain and she reels back from the table. She grits her teeth together, counts down from ten, then when the pain subsides she relaxes again. 

Asami’s room. She’s still in Asami’s room, snooping around while hungover, and she figures maybe it’s time to grab her jacket and head home. 

_What time even is it?_ she wonders to herself as she tosses the blanket back onto the bed and opens the door, immediately welcomed by the scent of thick coffee and a living room/attached kitchen that’s starting to become familiar again. 

Asami stands in the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from an overhead cupboard, when she notices Korra. “Morning, rock star!" 

Korra sighs gently as she steps into the room. "I'm gonna have to get used to you calling me that, huh?" 

"Depends on how often I get to see you," Asami quips, delivering Korra an all-too cheeky smile. 

Korra lets out an awkward huff of air (she'd actually laugh if she weren't so tired) before she glances at the mugs in Asami's hands. "You make coffee for everyone that spends the night?” 

“Only if it seems like they need it,” Asami replies smartly as she sets the mugs down. She pauses, allowing Korra to enter the living room and plop down onto the sofa that emits of a soft puff of dust the moment she sits. Then: “Can't say it's often, though. I'm not entirely used to pretty girls waking up in my bed.” 

Is...is Korra hearing her right? She cocks an eyebrow, sitting forward in the couch, now all-too aware of the creaking of old springs with every one of her senses looming on a panic. She should have guessed, and yet she's not sure why it would even be the first thing to come to mind. Her mind struggles to recollect the events of last night, trying to count every drink that may have led to this while the rush of another headache spins through her head. 

Asami catches the look on Korra's face and dips her head, hiding an embarrassed smirk. “Sorry, bad joke. We didn't actually do anything last night." 

Korra’s heart stops: they didn’t do anything last night. Something good to know when she’s just woken up in the bed of a woman she met only two days ago, and yet something she’s afraid to admit doesn’t sit right in her stomach, like suddenly its just fallen away and with it a strange sense of…regret? 

“It's alright, I’m just hungover as shit,” Korra reaffirms her—at least she won’t try to make Asami feel bad about the idea. 

It works, as Asami’s smile returns to her face, and Korra smiles in response. “Well, I don’t know if it’s actually true, but I think coffee helps cure hangovers?” 

Korra chuckles as she stands and makes her way over to the opening between the kitchen and the living room, leaning against the barrier. “Have you ever actually had a hangover, Asami?" 

“Not in a while,” she says, pouring coffee into one mug before motioning to Korra with the pot. Korra nods, and Asami pours her a mug. "How do you take it?" 

"Black," Korra says, exhaustion weighing her voice down. Asami makes a face (Korra can pinpoint exactly why when she notices the caramel brown seeping into the dark roast of Asami's coffee) and passes it to her over the barrier, fingers curling around the mug with her thumb hooked under the handle. 

“Thanks,” says Korra as she takes the mug from her hand, narrowly grazing Asami’s thumb with her own just enough to make her nearly drop it; when she pulls away, the feeling of Asami’s skin against her own persists, and she does all she can to keep it there. Right now, Korra can't help but feel like everything persists. No thanks to that pounding headache, of course, but the way she looks down at her own hand, feels that lightest brush of Asami's fingers against it for just a moment longer, pushes her mind to everything else that won't quiet in her mind. “Can you tell me what did happen last night, though?” 

Asami hums in surprise from behind the lip of her mug before setting it down gently. “Well, the bar started to empty out but you wanted to keep chatting, so we ended up taking a cab back to my place. Don't worry, I paid.” She takes another sip of coffee, pulling the mug away with a cheeky smirk on her face. “Then, you basically fell asleep right as you got in, so I carried you to bed and slept on the couch.” 

“Hold on, you carried me?” Korra says in astonishment. 

“I’m more than just a pretty face, you know,” is Asami’s coy response. To emphasize her statement, she brings her arm up and flexes, and yeah, with how strong her arms look Korra can believe that story. “It’s not like I work on cars or anything.” 

Still, something pangs in her chest, and she can’t quite place what it is until her eyes drift over Asami’s shoulder and catch a glimpse of a tattoo. 

“You never showed me any of those tattoos, did you?” Korra asks, trying to peel her eyes away from Asami’s impressive flex. “No,” Asami begins, “but I can show you this one right now.” She twists her shoulder to Korra and displays her tattoo fully, and again Korra almost forgets to look at it. When she does see it in full, Korra can’t say it doesn’t bring her whole look together: half a cog, dark red, sits just at her shoulder, bordered by thick red lines. It’s simple but stunning, and set against her arm it’s much more alluring than it has any right to be. 

“You like it?” Asami asks, her arm still outstretched. 

“Uh, yeah! It’s pretty cool!” Korra manages, the hangover likely still making her a little groggy. “I like it.” 

“Thanks,” Asami says as she pulls her sleeve back down. “It was my first, so it’s pretty special to me. I like to think of it as sort of my special ‘Asami brand’, as stupid as that sounds.” 

“You gotta have your brand,” Korra replies, almost recoiling at how corny that sounds. 

Asami purses her lips, holding back a giggle. “Oh yeah? What’s yours?” 

Korra begins, but stops when she can’t exactly find the words. Also, probably the familiar ringtone she uses (‘Avatar State’ by Team Avatar, of course). Her eyes dart around the room, searching for the source of her ringtone, and Asami points her toward the landing where her denim jacket is hung. She quickly slips away from the kitchen barrier and reaches for her jacket, pulling her phone out of her pocket and putting it to her ear without even checking who’s calling. 

“Hello?” 

_“Korra, where are you?”_

Of course it’s Mako. 

“Um…I’m out still, why?" 

Mako groans on the other end. _“Well, you better get your ass to Varrick’s office. We’re supposed to have a meeting at ten!”_ He hangs up before Korra can defend herself or snark back at him (a smart decision, really). 

She turns to Asami. “Hey, what time is it?” 

“Nine-forty, why? Who was that?” 

“Can you guess by the look on my face?” Korra grumbles sarcastically. “I have a meeting at ten, and god I haven’t even showered!” 

“Need me to drive you back to the bar to get your car?” 

Through the morning’s newest stress, Korra manages a soft smile. “I’d really appreciate that. I’m sorry, you probably have to get to work.” 

"Nah, I’m not due at the shop until eleven.” She turns and grabs the mug Korra left behind and reaches behind her to one of the cupboards. “And I’ll grab you a travel mug. Can’t face the day without finishing your coffee!” 

“I need more friends like you, you’re the _best_!” 

"Friends, huh?" Asami smirks as she says this, her expression playful. "We've known each other for two days." 

"And somehow I feel like I know you better than some of the people I've known longer," she replies with a small shrug. 

Asami hums pleasantly as she pours the coffee into an old travel mug. “Well, now you have a reason to visit soon again apart from wrecking your car.” 

Korra slips into her jacket and boots and takes her drink. “I’d have visited, anyways. I’m your new favourite customer.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Asami jokes, slipping into a leather jacket and grabbing her keys from inside her pocket. “Though right now, I’d say you’re definitely up there.” 

_And there’s that damn blush again._


	2. Coffee Mug

_“You really think I can make it?” Korra exclaimed, her pride overshadowed by her utter delight._

_Aang flashed her a wide grin, genuine and proud, as he leaned forward in his chair. “Korra, I think you’re one of the most talented young musicians I’ve ever met in my life. You’re passionate, you’re driven, and you’ve got some sick licks!” To emphasize his last point, he brought his hands into an air guitar position and mimicked playing it._

_Korra beamed at her mentor as her fingers curled around the bridge of her guitar. She’d dreamed of the day he would tell her these words, tell her that she was good enough to break into the business like he had with his band, and while Aang had never been too shy to sing her praises, this was what she had been working towards. This was how she wanted to make him proud._

_She strummed her guitar excitedly, a resonant chord blasting through the speaker as she cried out in joy. “I’m gonna rock the world!”_

_“Whoa now, don’t forget the most important part of ‘rocking the world, kiddo!” Aang cut in. “You may be an awesome guitarist, but you’re gonna need a band to play with!”_

_“I’ll just join yours!”_

_“Now, you know Team Avatar hasn’t been together in years.” He sat back, his expression wistful as his eyes trailed to the ceiling of his music room—various painted tiles rested above them, colours wildly circling in different frames without so much as a drop of overlap. The acrylic album covers and stylized memories he’d always tell her about framed these paintings, showing a story spanning years: smoky shows on tiny stages, get-togethers, reunion tours when Sokka had almost lost all his hair and Aang was on his twentieth tattoo._

_They were legends, and Korra couldn’t wait to be one of them._

*

Mako and Bolin could probably wait a little longer.

At least, that’s what Korra has been telling herself the moment the clock in her car ticked to 10:00 AM. (And it isn’t her fault that she’s going to be late, not when her car had decided not to start for three painful minutes.) She clutches the wheel as panic grips her knuckles, her car screaming at her to let up as she speeds down the surprisingly empty streets. With every frantic turn, it makes a metallic yelp, and when she brakes she swears something else breaks, too.

Normally she’s not so hard-pressed to make it to a meeting on-time: Varrick’s usually doing something ridiculous and unprofessional beforehand, anyways, and after a bit of idle chat that usually eats up the first ten minutes of their meetings is when they finally get down to business.

This one’s different.

She knows this because it’s all her and the band have been talking about for weeks between—and during—gigs. It’s all Bolin texts her about every night when she’s sure he should be asleep (then again, so should she), and it’s all her and Mako can seemingly agree on these days.

They’re planning their first tour, and it’s going to be _epic_.

She’s already told her parents, she’s already told her landlord, and frankly she’s surprised it didn’t slip out to Asami last night—

Her eyes quickly dart to the travel mug sitting in the cup holder, and she swallows back the residual humiliation swirling in her chest. This isn’t her—it’s so not her! Korra doesn’t get so drunk she blacks out and wakes up in someone else’s house, especially not the night after a show or before a meeting, and _especially_ not in front of a stranger.

It’s not her, and she’s still panicking about how one weird night and an apparent lapse in judgement is already causing her to be late for the first meeting about the tour the band hasn’t been able to shut up about for the better half of the year.

Except, she thinks, it couldn’t be a lapse in judgement. Destiny’s always been a funny concept to Korra—and by funny she means ludicrous—but she could swear meeting Asami was bound to happen, and getting to know Asami was bound to happen, and that blush creeps back across her cheeks as she wonders what’s next in this series of ‘bound to happen’ events with Asami.

She still can’t get it out of her head, can’t expel it from between every rapid heartbeat, can’t keep it from bringing a pink heat to her face. That smell of coffee and lavender still sitting in her nose and swimming in her mind, and again she’s compelled to reach for the mug and take another gulp to bolt her awake and to try and remind herself how soft Asami’s hand was against hers.

(She never entertains the idea that this isn’t the only time she’ll get to touch Asami’s hand.)

Korra makes it to Varrick’s office, which is really just one small studio building in the middle of the exchange district, surrounded by other media outlets and art spaces and buildings that surprise everyone by still standing. Parking is, as usual, hell, but she manages to squeeze into a spot about a block away and leap out of her car with absolutely no minutes left to spare.

It’s 10:10 when she gets in the elevator, 10:12 when she makes it to the floor of Varrick’s personal office, and she wonders when the hell he’s going to get that elevator fixed (he never uses it, of course, so he probably won’t).

She rushes down the hall and ignores the sloshing of coffee careening out of the open lid she’s too pressed for time to close. 10:13 when she makes it into the office itself, and she shouldn’t be surprised at all to see—

“Korra! You made it!” Varrick cheers from a suspended chair currently taking up the space where his desk would normally be.

Mako and Bolin are seated in front of him in non-suspended chairs, and their heads snap to Korra as she enters; a smile stretches across Bolin’s face as she approaches, while Mako’s expression remains dour.

“Sorry I’m late!” Korra apologizes hastily and pulls up a chair backwards beside Bolin, swinging her leg over the side and resting her arm against the back.

Varrick leans forward, and it’s almost impossible not to laugh at how ridiculous he looks like this. “You’d better be! Now I’ll have to explain this whole ‘creative process but suspended several feet above the ground’ concept all over again!”

Mako groans; Bolin tenses and waves his raised hands; Korra leans back slightly and looks between the two brothers before her attention returns to Varrick, though not before catching Mako’s annoyed—maybe slightly traumatized—expression. “No, that’s alright. I’m sure you’ll have lots of time to explain it to me after the meeting.”

“You’re probably right,” Varrick agrees as he lightly swings his chair back and forth. “Huh, now that you mention it, leaving this kind of talk until after business is over might be a good idea going forward.” Korra turns inward toward Bolin, who shrugs simply. “But that’ll be for next time: right now we’ve got a tour to talk about!”

“Yeah we do!” Bolin whoops, sliding forward in his chair with a raised fist. “Oh, I’ve got so many ideas—”

“Now hold on there,” Varrick butts in. “As exciting as this all is, we do have the whole ‘business’ side of things to talk about. I’m your manager for a reason, and it’s not just because of my winning smile!”

Mako makes a comment under his breath, but Varrick either doesn’t hear it or chooses to ignore it; either way, it stokes the embers in Korra’s veins, hands tensing to keep from lashing out at him unnecessarily.

“Now,” Varrick continues, swinging his chair over to an assortment of papers and pictures haphazardly stuck to the wall, “I’ve already been looking at venues for you guys, getting contact with some people and seeing what I can land you. So far if you’re not too keen on getting too far from home, there’s a few venues in this sort of area here and here—” and he points to a large map with red marker drawn in sharp lines between different points he’s pinned. “It’s a bit less extravagant, and frankly I think you guys should consider a bigger audience, but if you want to we could do a tour just here for a two-week run.”

Bolin hums exaggeratedly, Korra mirroring the sentiment, albeit much more quietly. It’s not quite what she was expecting, and Varrick’s definitely right about considering a bigger audience. The Fire Ferrets aren’t nobodies at all, especially for a relatively up-and-coming band that so far mostly does covers, with a few Bolin originals; Korra can at least count on two hands the amount of times she’s randomly stumbled across their music on Spotify long after she’s finished her playlist. They’ve played Pride, they’ve played sponsored shows, they’ve even played with acclaimed actress Ginger Starling in their audience (maybe she’s not the biggest superstar, but her work did earn her an Emmy nomination).

Mako’s the only one that leans forward in interest at Varrick’s proposal. “Starting small might not be such a bad idea for our first tour,” he posits, resting his chin in his hand. “I mean, we don’t have a lot of original works, and it’s not like we’re One Republic City, right?”

“Not yet!” Bolin replies defensively.

“Come on, bro, do you really think you could be on-tour for two weeks?” Mako pushes, his brow creased into an incredulous expression. “What would you do about Pabu?”

Bolin’s jaw drops, a look of utter betrayal on his face. “Are you suggesting we’re _not_ bringing Pabu with us on tour?”

Mako rolls his eyes, the glow of another heated debate flashing in his eyes. “I mean, obviously we’re not bringing Pabu with us on tour.”

Korra frowns and turns to Varrick before Mako and Bolin can keep arguing. “Maybe somewhere in the middle?” she suggests. “We stay mostly local-ish but throw in a few extra stops further along the road?” Korra takes another look at Varrick’s barely-decipherable map, following the trails of the road between each marking he’s made for them, and pauses on a spot not entirely far from one of their stops. She smiles excitedly and turns to Bolin. “Hey, if we take an extra day of travel east we could maybe do a show at Zaofu!”

Immediately, Bolin leaps out of his seat animatedly, his fists pulled close to his chest as he brings his knees together looking as if he’s about to burst into song. “Oh, that would be awesome! I could tell Opal we’re performing, and she could come see us perform live for the first time, and I could sing ‘Left My Heart’, and—”

“Bolin,” Mako says, his voice low and in warning.

A spark.

Korra turns her attention to Mako with vicious energy. “What, suddenly you don’t want your brother to get to play for his girlfriend?”

Mako reels back defensively, his mouth pulling into a frown, his hands shielding him from Korra’s fire. “Whoa, hey, that’s not what I said. I just think we should approach this realistically. It’s not like it’s a dream tour or something!”

“I never said anything about a ‘dream tour’, but it seems like you’re just shooting down every idea someone has!” By now, Korra’s risen to her feet, fists curled inward as her eyes narrow on Mako.

Mako moves to match her. “We should just consider all of our options and what we can actually do as a band. I don’t wanna go on-tour and fuck this up!”

“Well have you ever considered what other people might want?”

“Hey, whoa! Watch it with my chair!” Varrick cries out pleadingly, swinging forward in his suspended chair towards Korra.

Korra stops, looks down at her hand gripping the back of the chair like she’s ready to throw it. She looks back at Mako, sees the red in his cheeks, the fire in his eyes mirroring hers, and she uncurls her fingers from the chair; it’s just too _easy_ to fight with Mako these days.

(She never entertains the idea that she willingly starts half of their fights.)

“Sorry, Varrick,” Korra begins meekly. “I’m just a little ti—”

She’s cut off by Bolin, who stands between the two like a stone wall, strong arms outstretched as his raised brows and downturned mouth express an understandable concern.

He turns to Mako, then to Korra, and finally to Varrick. “You wouldn’t mind if we stepped out for just a moment, Varrick, would you?”

“Fine, fine, take a break five minutes into our meeting, why don’t you?” Varrick huffs as he sinks back in his chair, the words stinging at Korra’s guilt just like anger stings at her eyes.

Bolin nods and puts a firm hand on Korra and Mako’s forearms, his grip stern but not strong, as he leads them out of the office and into the hallway. Korra feels it like a weight, how he holds onto her, the weight of stone, the weight of all the things pushing up from between her and Mako, the weight of how much Bolin is holding back on his own.

When they’re out of earshot of Varrick, Bolin sighs, and Korra swears he’s also holding back tears. “Look,” he begins, his voice shaky and unstable, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you two, but it hasn’t gotten better. In fact, it’s really only been getting worse.”

Korra can’t help it; she’s not one for holding back. “It wouldn’t be getting worse if Mako just watched his attitude.”

Mako steps up, accepts the challenge. “My attitude? You’re the one who gets way too intense about everything!”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, guys!” Is Bolin’s response—and his way of cutting them off before the fight can resume. “We’re talking about going on tour, spending time together, playing like we used to—”

“I don’t think we can do what we used to, Bolin,” Mako says with a frown and the most frigid of side-eyes towards Korra.

And that’s what it’s all about.

Korra grits her teeth together to dam the words in her mouth, to keep from shouting like they haven’t stopped doing since they broke up, and even before then. Words laced with venom hurled like stones, cutting like daggers. Nights where, even curled together, the only heat between them is the simmering danger of another argument, another fight both will walk away from with bruised egos, scratchy throats, and another foot or two of distance between them.

That’s what it’s all about, and Korra hates that Mako’s not over it, hates that she’s moved on but it’s still so easy to fight with him.

(She never entertains the thought that maybe she goes looking for these fights.)

Bolin tenses, looks between his brother and Korra, and it’s not hard to sense the shift in the room from boiling anger to icy discomfort. Korra pouts—it’s all she can think to do when Mako’s being so unfair, so _childish!_ —and directs her attention back to Bolin, and she knows he’s right even if he doesn’t get the chance to finish his statement.

“I guess I’m just a little tired,” Korra cedes, and she pushes angry tears back knowing how much it hurts to lie. “Sorry, Bolin.” Then, with maybe a little too much exertion: “Sorry, Mako.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” Mako says and she knows it’s a lie, too.

Bolin nods; he’s probably picked up on it, and Korra can only admire his perseverance and optimism. “Then we’re good. Let’s head back inside and try and get through this meeting.”

*

They’re good.

They’re _more_ than good.

Korra tells herself this as she drives back to her apartment, her foot fidgeting on the gas a little more than she’d like to admit. It’s not like she believes it—Korra’s done believing in the lies she tells herself—but she does know that everything will be fine. Bands fight all the time, right? She knows even the legendary ‘Team Avatar’ weren’t strangers to fighting, especially between Aang and Zuko in the band’s earlier days, and they came out fine.

She barely doubts that The Fire Ferrets won’t, either.

Heavy power chords jolt lightning through her body and she can’t help but feel taken by the energy, wholly under the control of the music ringing in her ears as she bobs back and forth in her seat, rolling her shoulders and murmuring along to the lyrics between animated imitations of the guitar and softer humming along with the melody.

And it’s natural, how easily Korra slips into the music like she’s back on-stage, feeling the stage lights beam down on her skin and heat her cheeks, hearing the ring of amplified guitar bounce rock her eardrums, tasting the salt of sweat slip against the corners of her mouth. She knows who she is, what she is, her power and her gift, and nothing feels more right in this moment than gripping the steering wheel ever harder as she grits her teeth, growing frustrated with every nagging voice, in her memory and in her life, telling her not to.

_Let’s approach this realistically._

_Sometimes dreams aren’t meant to come true._

_You know how you can get._

_You’re the one who gets way too intense about everything._

Korra pulls her car over to the curb and uses every ounce of self-control in her body to not tear her steering wheel apart.

It’s just how it’s always been: people crowd around her, arms outstretched as they hand her their praise, their affection, their admiration, all while holding back their judgement, reserving it for when she gets ‘too intense’ (their words, not hers). It’s constant, and never-ending, and every time she thinks someone understands her passion—how much it means to her to be who she is—she quickly learns that she was wrong again.

Her breathing steadies as she exhales, counting down from ten—something she’s so glad Tenzin taught her—until her heart settles in her chest and her throat isn’t congested by strained muscles holding back rage.

Intense.

That’s the word her parents always used when they meant that she was overzealous and headstrong. It’s obnoxious how many other people latched onto it, made her out to the one who’s ‘too intense’.

She sits in her car a little bit longer, the raspy voice singing through her speakers taunting her with aggression while the muffled sound of traffic outside makes her feel like she’s stuck inside, cut off as power chords bounce around inside, a sound only she can hear clearly.

Once the song is over, Korra pulls away from the curb and drives home with the radio off.

*

_“Your daughter’s incredible!” Korra heard Aang say to her parents._

_They were in the living room, Katara and Aang sitting in front of her father while her mother busied herself with preparing some snacks. She’d done her visiting earlier over dinner, where her and Aang had shared excited looks between each other, but her curiosity and admiration for her mentor were definitely enough to distract her from her homework._

_Her parents were wearing that expression again, and she couldn’t really ever tell if they were proud or concerned. What she could tell was that they liked Aang too much to embarrass her in front of him, and that they got frustrated whenever she got ‘too intense’._

_(‘Too intense’ clearly wasn’t something Korra cared about; and why would she? She knew who she was, she was having fun, she wasn’t hurting anyone too much.)_

_“I’ve listened in on some of her lessons with Aang,” Katara interjected. “Korra plays at a level far beyond other children her age.”_

_Her father’s smile spread across his face a little too wide. “So you’re saying our daughter’s a prodigy, huh?”_

_“Well, we always thought so!” her mother added as she slid a plate in front of their guests. Korra couldn’t help but snort scathingly at that; if that were the case, why had they always been so hesitant to let Korra take lessons with Aang, or let her play music with some of the other kids from music class at school, or buy her a guitar until she was finally old enough to understand how much guitars actually cost?_

_She heard Aang sit forward as the leather chair underneath him creaked. “She’s certainly on her way to being one,” he began in his ‘mentor voice’, “and I think that you two should really consider taking the next step with her in her musical career.”_

_“And what might that be?” Her father’s voice bore careful suspicion_

_“I think it’s time to consider maybe enrolling her in an official musical institution.”_

_Had Korra been standing anywhere closer to the staircase, her gasp would have absolutely been heard by her parents downstairs; still, even from in her room, her excitement was loud and clear. Aang was talking about enrolling her in a musical institution! He had certainly never ever shied away from telling her how talented she was, but this blew all other compliments out of the water._

_Korra, the twelve year-old prodigy, taking the world by storm and actually being recommended for a musical institution._

_She knew what her parents would say before they even said it._

_There was a pause, uncomfortable and cautious, from the living room when Korra tried to listen again. She knew what her parents would say, what they were thinking, because it was always the same story, always the same arguments, never giving in._

_“She’s only twelve,” was the first thing her father said. (‘She’s too young’ was what he always said, and it frustrated Korra how much he hated to admit that she was growing up.)_

_“Well, I was pretty much known worldwide when I was twelve!” Aang retorted in a chipper but firm voice. “Isn’t it, like, every twelve-year-old’s dream to be famous?”_

_“It’s a big decision to make,” her mother stated in her airy ‘pretending to think about it’ voice. (‘We want to make that decision for her’ was what she actually meant, since they always had the final word; it’s why it took so long to get her a guitar in the first place.)_

_“You’re right, it is,” Katara began, “and we’re not saying you should send her away immediately. But Korra’s extremely talented, and a proper education with performance opportunities would be really valuable for her in the long run.”_

_There was another pause, this one filled with unspoken questions and statements her parents were too polite to speak. Korra waited, her breath growing hot in her mouth as her teeth chattered nervously for what she would hear her parents say next. She wished they would say something, anything! She wanted to know what they really thought and how far they could go with their excuses._

_And then a sigh, this time from both of her parents. She leaned slightly out of her doorway, waiting, listening, stopping herself from rushing downstairs to fight their stupid decisions._

_“You know how intense she can get, Aang,” her father began._

_“And, well, it might just be a bit…much for her,” her mother finished. “You know how she gets.”_

_“I know she gets excited whenever she thinks about playing on-stage.” Korra didn’t think Aang’s voice could get so harsh (it wasn’t loud, or commanding, or stern, but it was harsh nonetheless). “And I know she could use all the support she can get.”_

_Her mother chuckled anxiously, clattering around with some dishes or something. “Of course! We’re always going to try and support her as best as we can. But…well, don’t you think it’s a little intense for her?”_

_“I don’t.” Katara’s voice didn’t dam any judgement in her tone, either._

_Her father hummed, and that was never a good sign. He never hummed in agreement or thought, most of his contemplation done in silence. “We’ll have to think on it.”_

* 

They never did think about it, and Korra remembers her seething rage manifesting itself in not wishing her parents goodnight, not talking to them the next morning before school, and wishing that Aang had maybe just said more to convince them. 

Always too intense. 

It’s all people have ever said about her. 

Maybe it’s written in her expression when she walks through the doors of her apartment complex, since Tenzin quickly stops her before she reaches the elevator. 

“Korra!” he greets warmly. 

"Hey, Tenzin,” she replies with what little warmth she can return without it turning into fire. She wouldn’t lash out at Tenzin, not often at least. Ever since moving in, he’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and even patient with her—something not a lot of people can manage. (Though, having to handle three—no, four—loud and rowdy children as well as being the building’s landlord probably needed someone with his patience.) 

He takes a deep breath as he steps towards his office and opens the door. “Bolin dropped off your guitar for you last night." 

“Naga, right.” Korra nods and heads towards the office, standing in the doorway as Tenzin carefully picks it up from behind his desk and hands it to her; she eyes every movement he makes until she has her guitar firmly in her hand. “Thanks.” 

“Was it a good show?” he inquires, and it’s innocent enough. All Tenzin knows is that Korra’s in a band with Mako and Bolin, that she plays guitar and that she’s very protective of it, and that her and her bandmates are all fine and get along perfectly (and it’s a perfect little lie to uphold when Bolin is the only one who ever shows up at the building ever). 

Another little white lie won’t hurt; it’s not entirely wrong, either. Korra could never say any show is bad, not when she gets to live on-stage again. And not when…well…she _did_ get to play for Asami for the first time. 

(She never entertains the thought that thinking of ‘Asami’ and ‘first time’ in the same sentence makes her heartbeat rush quite a bit.) 

“Pretty rocking!” she says exaggeratedly, flashing Tenzin a confident and lopsided smirk she’s become known for. “I kinda fucked up a few solos—” she pauses, takes a quick look to make sure none of his kids are around, then sighs in relief, “—but the crowd still loved it.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear!” Tenzin beams at her like a proud father, one she’s bitter she thought she’d had and was absolutely wrong about. And that’s a look that flashes across Tenzin’s face, too, if only for a moment. “I’m sure my father would be proud to hear, too.” 

“Thanks.” And she means it. 

A few more words are exchanged between them—stuff about the kids, the next show, lies about how Mako and Bolin are, and Asami’s name slips out more than a few times—before Korra heads to the elevators and waits in agonizing frustration on her way up as dull guitar music grates against every frayed nerve until she makes it to her apartment. 

A whole morning of frayed nerves, with an extra dose of inter-band drama. God, she wishes she was back at Asami’s place, the peace of the morning uninterrupted by tension and aggression. 

She sits down on her thrift store couch and wishes it were the dusty burgundy couch in Asami’s house, spitting dust at her as she sinks into the soft cushions. Everything had been so calm, so easy there, with Asami’s smile making Korra ever forget she could be angry at anything or that people could ever call her ‘too intense’. Especially when she remembers the way Asami had smiled at her from behind the rim of her coffee mug. 

It’s magic, she thinks, how one person—a person she barely even _knows_ —can make her feel so at ease, so much like herself, passion and excitement and everything. It’s magic, she thinks, how in the few days Korra’s known her she feels more excited thinking about her smile, about how her hand feels gently brushing against her own skin than she’d ever felt about Mako and the fire of their previous relationship still flickering angrily in her heart. 

To Korra, it’s like a redirection, equivalent energy passed between her and Asami. Her passion is shown to her like a crystal clear mirror, one that shows her how much she’s giving and gives it all right back. Asami listens, and smiles, and has a life and job and Korra can’t help but want to know more, dig a little deeper into the mystery that is Asami and see just why her heart keeps beating faster and faster. 

Why it feels like something she doesn’t have to hide from. 

Why it feels like her excitement is like the rush of being on-stage. 

Why it feels like knowing Asami is like knowing just the right song to sing. 

Korra starts towards the kitchen after setting her guitar down beside the couch, coffee mug in hand. Several dirty dishes are still piled into the sink, and she moves them aside to fill the sink with water. That lavender smell persists beside her despite the strong odour of plain dish soap, and she can really only think of how much she’ll miss it if the soap washes it away. 

She’ll start with yesterday’s dishes, she reckons. They’ve been there already for too long, and if there’s one thing Korra can’t handle it’s clutter, whether it be a cluttered life or just a cluttered sink. Plus, it’ll give her just a little more time with that aroma before she can only recall it in memories of the morning. 

“ _Coffee mug_ ,” she begins, her voice hushed and stable as her hands scrub the grime off a plate, and she can already feel music in her lungs; it’s not a song she’s heard before, but she knows every word as it spills from her mouth. “ _Memories of morning, memories of her. Memories of how she smiles, so crystal clear in my mind, not a blur_." 

She reaches for the mug beside her, her fingers hesitating right against the plastic handle; the words aren’t lost to her when she picks it up and carries it over to the sink, though she hesitates to sing them again when the plain smell of soap mixes with the sweet smell of the morning. “ _Lavender. Smells just like her bedroom, smells just like her. Sweet and soft like her hands as they brush up against mine; make my heart stir_." 

Korra hums the rest of the melody as she imagines the chords strumming along with her, and her hands rest against the mug as it soaks in the dishwater, the warmth of the sink matching the warmth rising in her cheeks. 

That same warmth rests in her lower lip, and by the time she notices it she’s quickly pulling the mug from the sink and tossing it aside into the dish rack, her mind elsewhere as she races for her guitar, the melody still fresh in her mind and the words still sweet on her tongue. Excitement rushes through her arms as she unclasps the guitar case and pulls her instrument out, immediately getting to work bringing the song back into the still quiet of her apartment as every word causes her heart to beat faster and faster. 

She sings with Asami’s voice in her ears and her smile in her mind, and when she thinks she has what she can call a song, she sits back and strums the chords again, imagining what the lyrics would sound like in Asami’s voice. 

Asami is like a song Korra’s known for so long, though one she’s never learned. But she doesn’t need to learn this song; it’s there in her mind, and the notes are in the pads of her fingers as they stretch across the bridge, and singing about her is like singing the only thing she’ll ever need to perform. 

For once, Korra entertains the idea that maybe she’s not entirely sure of herself quite yet. Nothing excites her more than getting to figure that part out. Nothing scares her more than having to figure that part out. 

And nothing puts her more at ease than the thought of Asami being there when she’s figured it out. 


	3. harder (than it ought to be)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While you're here, here's [BLM's Carrd](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#)! Y'all should consider donating to one of the many funds linked or signing the petitions listed, or at the _very_ least share this one social media or with your friends and keep yourself informed and educated!

“C’mon, Bolin! Pick up!” Korra growls into the receiver as she paces back and forth around her living room; her guitar rests against the sofa, the chords it had just sang still fresh in Korra’s memory.

Once a moment filled with thoughtless bliss, being alone in her apartment with thoughts of Asami is now something to panic over. She’s not sure why it settled into her heart so quickly, thoughts of ‘ _oh no_ ’ and ‘ _what’s happening_ ’ and ‘ _why her_ ’ pouncing between every beat. Still, the more she thinks of it—the more she thinks of notes in her ears and songs on her tongue and a far-too-soft touch of fingers against her hand—the more she realises it’s not something she can just keep thinking about.

She needs _answers_.

There’s a click on the other end of the line— _someone’s picked up_ —and she’s glad to hear Bolin chipperly deliver: “Ping’s Pizza Pies, what can we slice you today?”

“Bolin, it’s Korra. Can we talk?” It’s more of a demand, one brought on by the increasing intensity of her heartrate and racing mind.

“Korra?” There’s a pause after this, and she can hear the chatter of employees and customers at Bolin’s workplace before the soundscape is interrupted by an anxious sigh only Bolin could deliver. “I’m at work right now, can it wait for my break?”

“It’s about Asami.” She knows that saying this will immediately spark his curiosity, which is probably why she says it before she even thinks about it.

Of course, it immediately has the intended effect and she can hear Bolin shout over the line: “Hey Ping, I gotta take a call really quick! Won’t be more than five minutes!” There’s some indistinct shouting that Korra waits through before Bolin finally gets back to her. “So tell me _everything_.”

“Everything?”

Bolin chuckles gaudily. “Come _on_ , Korra! You were practically drooling over each other at the show the other night! And you never came back to the apartment, and that was _definitely_ not your coffee mug. You two totally banged!”

Korra almost immediately flushes red; whether it’s at Bolin’s comment or even the thought of her doing what he’s suggesting, she doesn’t have enough time to considers. “What? No! We didn’t—Bolin, it’s not like that!”

“Boring! What are you calling me for, then?” he says with an exaggerated yawn. "Couldn't you have talked to me about this after our meeting?"

She opens her mouth to speak, and then the words fall from her tongue. It should be easy to say, she already knows what’s tugging at her mind and her heart, and yet it’s like the words have suddenly fallen back down her throat and she’s barely able to even choke them out. She’s considered it once or twice, but it’s always been in a fleeting moment of wonder and curiosity, and she’s never really found it worth pursuing. (Or maybe she has, and she’s just to nervous to.)

It takes her a moment to recollect her thoughts and clear her throat of her half-baked confession before leaning against the side of the couch tiredly. What is she calling Bolin for if she isn’t even able to say the words properly herself?

“Korra,” Bolin asks, his voice taking on a sincere tone, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am,” she answers flatly. “I mean, not really. It’s nothing serious, but I think I’m going crazy. Am I going crazy?”

“Well, yeah, you’re calling me in the middle of my shift.”

Korra groans frustratedly into the receiver. “I _didn’t_ wanna call you when Mako was around. You gotta understand. I…I’m having a really hard time figuring all this out.”

There’s a pause, one in which she hears chairs shuffling from Bolin’s end, before he sighs heavily. “Well, I’ve gotta get back on-shift in a bit, but for now? Tell me what you’re able to.”

Korra smiles gently; she’s glad that the embers of her relationship with Mako haven’t set fire to her friendship with Bolin. “Alright, well, I went to her place after the show and we mostly just talked. Apparently I fell asleep so she carried me to her bed and slept on the couch—”

“A gentlewoman, I see,” Bolin interjects in a subdued but theatrical voice.

“And much more! She’s so kind and considerate, Bolin, and in just the small amount of time I got to know her I’d already learned so much about how hard-working and passionate she is!” This time, the words flow from her chest in a single rush of air, excited and unhindered. Suddenly, talking about _Asami_ and not thinking about how clearly her feelings for her are something else is so easy, so free, and— “I ended up writing a song about her after our meeting, actually.”

Bolin pauses, and she’s sure she hears an audible gasp come from her friend. It’s pretty embarrassing, admitting to one of your closest friends that you wrote a song about a girl (more specifically, a girl’s coffee mug) that you only met several days ago and are in hard denial about having feelings for, but somehow Korra manages to shrug off the residual humiliation to keep the conversation going.

“It’s been stuck in my head since Saturday. _She’s_ been stuck in my head since I fucking met her!” she concludes. “And I’m kinda panicking.”

“Is it a bop?”

“Huh?”

Bolin clears his throat and repeats himself: “Is the song a bop, Korra?”

Korra presses her lips together into a thoughtful frown. “I mean, I like it. It’s nothing really special, though.” It’s a bit of an understatement, but if she told Bolin that all she wants to do is find out if Asami likes it too she’d never hear the end of it. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and presses against the blush heating her cheeks. “It’s soft, I guess.”

“Oh, Korra, you’re in love!”

“Am not!” she snaps—and okay, maybe he’s onto something, but even that’s a little strong.

Bolin giggles excitedly. “You are, you totally are!”

“Yeah, right!” It’s all feeling more like an act the more defences she puts up against it, and she wonders just how long those defences will last.

“Okay, fine,” Bolin grumbles, though his voice betrays no upset, “what makes you so sure you’re not even a little bit in love with her? In like, maybe?”

“First off, that’s not an actual thing, Bolin. No one says ‘in like’—”

“Not yet!”

“—and second of all, I know my own heart,” she interjects. 

“If you know your own heart then why are you calling me to talk about Asami?” he retorts with a hum.

Korra grumbles at his rebuttal, feeling very much like it was bound to reach this point. A frustrated sigh escapes her mouth as she falls back over the arm of the sofa and lands heavily against the cushions. No, she’s not frustrated at Bolin, she reminds herself, but the fact that he’s very right, that everything he’s said so far is pointing to something she’s left buried for years, does grate her patience a little.

“Fine,” she admits, feeling defeat and relief swell in her eyes that she pushes back against. “I just…Bolin, I don’t know how to feel. I mean, I’ve tried not to feel like this for years, and usually I’m pretty good at that.” She pauses and adjusts herself onto the couch, bringing her knees closer to her chest. “How do I even know that this is one of those things?”

“Korra, literally everything you’ve told me so far sounds like it’s one of those things.”

Korra can’t help but smirk lightly at the comment. “Yeah, well, that’s how it felt with Mako. Look how that turned out.”

There’s silence at first from Bolin’s end, and she understands why. He’d initially been the one to try and get his best friend and his brother to spend more time together, and he’d been the one to suggest to Mako that they date when the two’s friendship had grown just a bit stronger than that.

He’s also the one who saw it collapsing from a mile away, ducking between falling debris to try and keep their relationship—and his own friendships—intact until he too collapsed under the crushing weight of all their shattered pieces.

Korra can’t say she doesn’t feel guilty about what happened to Bolin with her and Mako, but she knows that since then the two of them have had different ideas of what Korra should do next; for a good several months, hers was quit the band, and then even when the Fire Ferrets reformed romance was off the table for her. She couldn’t go back to it, not when she still felt too many of those pieces hadn’t been repaired.

 _Romance!_ Why is she even thinking of that?

(She knows every reason she doesn’t want to, and only one reason she does; that reason’s name is Asami.)

Bolin’s voice clears her rapid-fire thoughts with a stability she desperately needs. “Look, I get that you might be scared. And maybe you don’t actually like this girl—which, if I’m being honest, is preposterous—but you won’t know what these feelings are if you just keep trying to make up excuses to ignore them. I know how things went last time, but I also know how bad they can get if you just, you know, keep pushing them down. Why don’t you ask her out, see if it’s meant to be?”

“Ugh, you know how I feel about that phrase,” Korra moans with a roll of her eyes.

“Okay, yeah, Hasook turned out to be a jerk. A very straight jerk. But it did help me find my own heart. And Korra?”

“Yeah?”

“Sounds like you need to find yours, too. You deserve it.”

She sighs; he’s right again. Korra presses her lips together thoughtfully and swallows back the bitter taste of coffee coating her mouth and the lump forming in her throat at the thought of having to confront things long suppressed.

And then it hits her.

“I mean, I do have a coffee mug to return to her. She’s probably been missing it after three days,” she muses. 

“And missing you, mayhaps?”

“As if, Bolin! I’m totally kidding myself here.” She lets her head slide against the back of the sofa before another idea pops into her mind. “What if I asked her to meet up with me at the Jasmine Dragon?” she asks Bolin with a lighter tone.

Bolin practically giggles into the phone. “Are you kidding? That sounds adorable! You two can grab coffee, maybe a pastry, you can show her around your favourite watering hole, introduce her to all your favourite records, share a passionate kiss as you dance—”

“Bolin, we’re not going to share a passionate kiss as we dance,” Korra grumbles. “Besides, this isn’t an actual date! This is…getting to return a coffee mug to someone I’d like to get to maybe know a bit better. Seeing if it actually is meant to be. I mean, a very _platonic_ kind of 'meant to be'.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you cool kids are calling a date these days,” Bolin teases.

Korra rolls her eyes and falls back against the couch. “I’m serious, Bolin. Like, even if I were into her—which is still very up in the air—there’s no guarantee that she’d be into me.” That thought makes her worry more than she expects it to, but she quickly bypasses the worry to get back on track with her thoughts.

“Korra, sweetie, you know I love you, but you are the most oblivious girl I’ve ever met,” Bolin adds. “She couldn’t keep her eyes off of you! And she did the hair tuck thing _and_ the lip bite thing! Back to back! To you!”

Her heartrate picks up a bit, and warmth flushes into her cheeks. She remembers the way Asami had laughed and smiled around her that night, how light her voice seemed and how deep her gaze dug into Korra. She remembers how pink painted her cheeks when they shared a look that lasted maybe a second too long (though Korra wonders if there’s such a thing with Asami as ‘too long’) and she _definitely_ remembers how she’d thought Asami’s eyes were the most captivating thing looking up under her eyelashes at her.

And the lip bite? Yeah, there’s no way she’s forgetting that anytime soon.

“God, why does she have to be so unfairly attractive!” Korra grumbles.

“Dunno, but she’s _very_ attracted to you. And I think if you want to settle these feelings you got, meeting up with her is the best way to go about it. To give back her mug, of course.” She can’t see him, but she can practically hear the wink he gives at this comment.

Korra smiles. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks Bolin.”

“Anything for you, my dearest of friends,” Bolin says with a smile in his voice before hanging up.

Korra sets her phone down and glances up at the ceiling, the beginnings of a plan to see Asami again forming in her mind alongside anxious whispers and echoes that for so long she’d listened to. Sometimes they overpower her, sometimes they make her feel like there really is something wrong with her.

Right now, she’s too excited to let them get to her.

* * *

_“I think I might be bisexual.”_

_Korra’s heart skipped a momentary beat as her and Mako turned to face Bolin. His eyes met hers and in them she found understanding, acceptance, something she didn’t quite understand when he smiled gingerly at her in return._

_“You are?” Mako asked, his voice neutral (and Korra was already wary of how he spoke)._

_Bolin, of course, shrugged casually and push away from the wall he was leaning against. “I mean, I said ‘I think’, so there’s no guarantee.” He pursed his lips in thought before raising a finger to the air. “Maybe the fact that I keep thinking about kissing Hasook every day after class might mean something.”_

_Korra smirked and felt an immediate burning in her cheeks. “You’re sure? I mean I’d be down to kiss a girl but I’m not bi.”_

_“Sounds a little bi to me,” Bolin teased coolly._

_Mako’s arm immediately tightened around her shoulders, and the way his jaw tensed and his brow furrowed made her burn a little hotter, grow a little more tense herself. He was always so defensive—so what if she made a joke about kissing girls? She knew herself, and she knew that he was the only person she would actually want to kiss right now. God, he could be so immature._

_“Well maybe you should ask Hasook out? See how you feel about him,” Korra suggested, though part of her even speaking up was to distract herself from the way Mako held her. “Personally, I’m not a fan of the guy, but if it’s meant to be then I say go for it!”_

_“Wow, ‘meant to be’, huh?” Bolin brought his arms over his chest and let out a small chuckle. “Aren’t you the one who always says ‘soulmates are for suckers’? Was that the phrase? Or was it 'love is overrated'?”_

_“Come on, Bolin,” Mako warned hotly. “Don’t say shit like that to my girlfriend.”_

_Korra rolled her eyes, and she never looked back on how annoyed she felt to hear that, how weirdly it sat in her ears and in her heart. Her gaze remained on Bolin, and she tried to seem at least a little more friendly when she spoke again. “I don’t mean it like that, Bolin. I know you’re always sure of your own heart. I just mean that if he is a jerk to you in any way, I’ll absolutely pummel him!”_

_“I’m glad to have your support in this endeavour, dearest Korra,” Bolin responded sincerely despite the drama in his tone. His eyes shifted quickly to Mako, pleading and large and desperate for his brother to chime in._

_“I mean, I’m proud of you, bro. Just don’t go doing anything dumb or breaking any hearts, you hear?” His eyes fell for a moment, and Korra noticed immediately the sag in his energy and the worry that plagued his expression. “You might wanna keep it on the D.L., though.”_

_Korra’s hands squeezed into fists. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Mako?”_

_“Whoa, hey, I don’t mean anything by it!” Mako’s hands immediately shot up in defence. “I’m just saying there are some people who might not be so supportive or open-minded—”_

_“Oh, I’m well aware! But I didn’t know you were one of them!”_

_Fire spouted in Mako’s eyes, and Korra matched it with a heated glare of her own. “How am I one of them? I just told my brother that I accept him for who he is!”_

_“And you also just told my best friend not to be open about who he is!” she snarled with sparks flying from her lips._

_“Hey, guys, hey!” Bolin interjected with flying hands and a sheepish smile. “Best friend and brother is right here, and he can speak for himself.”_

_Korra felt the burning in her throat halt, and then it subsided as she took in a strong, supported breath. Still, as she turned to Bolin (away from Mako), those words felt burned into her mind, echoed by voices she’d long since chosen to forget as best as she could._

_She felt fire at them, too._

_Bolin regarded them with a calm expression, and Korra didn’t know whether to feel proud of her righteous anger or ashamed of her sudden lashing out or confused by where in her heart those words had come from. (Bolin. She told herself for years that they came from a place of protectiveness over her best friend and she ignored the layers beneath that place.)_

* * *

Korra remembers asking Mako later that night after she’d taken him home how he felt about Bolin coming out. She remembers him cautiously avoiding the discussion and she remembers feeling ugly and afraid and further from him because of it. All those years, it hadn’t felt like an answered question—of course, he never really had told her what he thought—but now the pieces feel like they’re starting to come together.

Or, at least, she hopes they are. After all, she’s just finished talking on the phone with Asami, and—lucky her—planning a lunch date for today at the Jasmine Dragon. Korra’s used to spontaneity and last-minute plans, so she’s not exactly sure why her heart beats just a little faster when she thinks of seeing Asami in a bit, or why she puts an extra bit of effort into what she’s wearing and how tidy her hair looks (or maybe she does know why, and thinking about it just makes her heart beat faster).

She quickly grabs the mug from the dish rack and puts it in her backpack before checking herself out once more in the mirror; Bolin had once told her there was no way someone wouldn’t be attracted to her with the way she dressed, but looking at herself now with flatteringly torn jeans and a cropped tank top with just enough of her toned stomach on display, she hopes his words are true.

The Jasmine Dragon’s pretty much a hotspot, and Korra’s been enough times to know the quickest way to get to it. Aang and Katara used to take her frequently for lunches where they’d show her all the records, tell stories about the band days, and make Korra’s heart thump an excited beat at getting to spend time with her personal heroes, her icons. Today, her heart drums that same rhythm of excitement, though for different reasons.

She pulls up, smirks eagerly, and checks herself once more in her mirror (and, of course, fixes a few strands of disheveled hair she must’ve missed the first three times she looked in a mirror). Finally, she takes a strong breath in, feels it fill her lungs and stretch her chest, and it’s more thrilling than the buildup before a show when she blows out that strong breath. It hardly does anything to calm that raucous drumbeat that’s taken over her own heart, but at this point there’s no turning back. (And why would she want to? This is the kind of thrill she’s been longing for in her life!)

A knocking on her window knocks what remaining breath she has out of her lungs, and she yelps as her heart practically bursts through her chest. It’s probably embarrassing as all hell to look at, with her arms flailing about like she’s trying to whack the air away from her—and, admittedly, maybe there’s a bit of that reflex, that anxiety, that need to fight back that she hasn’t had to call on in a while.

“Sorry!” exclaims a voice from outside her car, and Korra almost immediately sighs with relief when she recognizes the voice as Asami’s.

Korra turns to look at her, expression nervous and cheeks burnt with the embers of panic that she quickly subdues with a few quick breaths and an attempted smile towards Asami. “It’s fine,” she says with a nervous chuckle, unbuckling her seat belt and exiting her car. “I spook easy.”

“Sorry,” Asami repeats, her hand quickly darting behind her head as a red blush paints her cheeks. “I got here early and saw your car pull up.”

Korra shrugs nonchalantly, though the mix of different anxieties coursing through her veins right now must be showing in some way. Her knees are shaking against the metal door of her car, her heart’s working overtime to make sure enough blood gets to her head, and her eyes scan Asami, taking her all in as she stands there in front of her; clearly, Korra’s not the only one who decided to dress a little bit nicer for their coffee meeting (because it’s _not_ a date, she insists to herself, but thinking that does not make her feel any better). 

“Wow, you’re looking snazzy,” Korra says, trying her best to look casual without looking like she’s checking Asami out.

“Thanks,” Asami replies with a blush that somehow just makes her look even better.

It’s hard not to check her out, frankly: ‘snazzy’ in this case absolutely means jaw-droppingly stunning. She’s wearing a black, high-waisted skirt, and Korra’s eyes can’t help but fixate on how smooth her legs look, how _long_ they are, how much those heels she’s wearing are doing for her. It’s not easy to look away from her—after all, Korra’s pretty much thought since day one that Asami would make a killer model, and getting to see her like this basically proves it—but eventually Korra’s able to peel her eyes away from her legs, up her body, just barely pausing at her exposed and very defined collarbone barely peaking out from her just barely unbuttoned blouse, and finally settle on her face. 

And she’s not complaining one bit; Asami’s smile is brighter than any sun or star, her emerald eyes holding a playfulness and curiosity and wisdom she’s immediately drawn to, wondering what kind of things are on her mind, what she sees and what she thinks of Korra (she only hopes it’s good things). A small black smudge pulls against Asami’s cheek, and Korra must linger on it for maybe a moment too long since Asami’s happiness quickly turns to confusion, and then worry.

“Hey, is there something wrong?” she asks, gentle and calm somehow so selfless.

Korra doesn’t respond at first, too endeared by the mark on her cheek. She quickly puts two and two together— _it must be oil or grease or something,_ she deduces—and it only endears her more to Asami, thinking of how much she works, how smart she is at what she does. And, somewhere in a part of her mind didn’t even think to acknowledge, she grows a little hotter at the thought of Asami working, her surprisingly toned muscles glistening with sweat as she wipes a grease-covered forearm across her forehead, bent over whatever car engine or muffler or other mechanic thing she’s got to do with just the right arch to her back—

“Korra?”

That’s enough to shake Korra from her slightly dizzying daydream, and she blinks the remnants of that image away to focus on the real Asami in front of her, the one who still looks a little confused and very rosy-cheeked. “Oh, yeah, sorry!” Korra apologises quickly as she throws her hands into her jean pockets. “Nothing’s wrong, you just have a little…um…” 

She points to her own cheek where the black stain is, and Asami brings a finger up to her cheek to wipe a bit off and examine it. Her eyes go wide when she looks at her fingertips, and when she looks back up at Korra it’s a very flustered look. 

“Oh god, how long has that been there?” she wonders aloud, her mouth curling into a nervous smile. “Well this is super embarrassing.”

Korra’s quick to lean forward, pulling at the sleeve of her jacket as she rolls it into her palm. “Here, let me get that for you!”

“Oh, it’s fine!” Asami protests as she steps out of Korra’s reach; it’s not a big step, and it’s not a scared or annoyed step, but it’s definitely one more thing to make Korra nervous about being around her today.

Korra’s arm retreats and she slings her hand back into her pocket. “Sorry,” she murmurs. Her eyes dart away from Asami as she goes to clean the spot on her face, looking for something maybe to move along with. She has to wonder why it’s so hard to do this all of a sudden: they were fine talking the first time they met, and the were more than fine after her show a few nights ago. They were fine when Korra woke up in her bed the next morning, and they were fine when Korra phoned her later and they arranged this meet-up (but not this 'date' because it’s _not_ a date, Korra tells herself, and maybe she wishes it were, but if it were she’d be ruining it already).

“Your mug!” Korra suddenly remembers, thankful for the distraction from her rampant thoughts. She opens her car door and reaches into the cup holder for Asami’s travel mug, feeling the curve of the metal as she’s grown so familiar to it these past few days and trying not to think about how now she won’t have anything of Asami’s to keep close.

“Right!” Asami says with a smile as she takes it from Korra and slips it into her bag. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Korra replies. “You were probably needing it, huh?”

Asami's expression turns coy, brought together by that lip bite that even Korra has to admit is beyond intoxicating. “I mean, I wasn’t lost without it or anything, but if getting it back meant I could hang out with you again then I’m glad to have it back.”

“Well I’m glad to give it back,” Korra says. “One more day with that thing in my house and I might’ve written another song.”

Immediately, the realisation of what she says—the horrible, _embarrassing_ realisation—crashes into her like a tidal wave, and already she begins filing through her mind for ways to backtrack and explain or nullify what she just said.

Instead, Asami looks at her with a mixed air of curiosity and delight. “You wrote a song?”

“I, uh…” she begins, and she pauses on her words because there’s no way she’s letting Asami know she wrote a song about having a crush on her and obsessing over the faint smell of her room thanks to a coffee mug she leant her. “I did, but it’s nothing great. I probably forgot the words already, actually.”

Asami’s expression shifts, crestfallen for a moment that tugs at Korra’s heart in an unexpected and uncomfortable way. She shrugs it away, though, and looks for another exit from another awkward exchange, finding it in the front doors of the Jasmine Dragon and the bubbling excitement of getting to show Asami something else that’s important to her, and one with far lower stakes.

“Hey, wanna head inside? This place is really cool, and I’m pretty excited for you to see it!”

“Yeah, let’s head in!” Asami says, her voice perking up a little bit at that. “You said it was a café on the phone?”

“Well, it’s that, and it’s also kind of a record shop. You can buy music here or just sit and listen to some of the records and CD’s they’ve got here,” Korra explains as she walks Asami to the door, holding it open for her with a polite bow of her head that Asami responds to with an equally polite “thank you, madame” that Korra’s cheeks swell pink at.

Once inside, Asami stops and Korra watches as she takes in the room, silently admiring the delight coming to her eyes. As usual, there’s a few people sitting in the café area, cheerily talking over drinks and snacks or sitting in single booths or in comfy armchairs with headphones plugged into their laptops as they work away at the papers around them. The midday sunlight sifts through navy-curtained windows, allowing faint blue light to wash over the marble tables and wave along wood-panelled walls and flooring. Just further back, a few other customers peruse through records and CD’s lining the wood and drywall on shelves, their fingers drawing along cover spines and pulling at different selections.

“Well this is new,” Asami murmurs to herself with an air of subdued glee.

“New good?” Korra asks, though she’s sure she knows the answer.

“New cool,” Asami confirms, peering down at Korra, gratitude and excitement mixing in her features. “How do you know this place?”

Korra leads her forward away from the door to the food displays just by the cash register, letting her take in the rest of the café as her eyes scan over wall decorations—posters, paintings, all local and all original and some of it going pretty far back.

“Aang and Katara used to take me here a lot when I was taking lessons with them,” she begins wistfully, her eyes darting between the shop itself and Asami’s admiring gaze. “Zuko actually opened it a while ago after the band split up a second time, but he retired a few years back. Now his grandson runs the place. He’s pretty cool, gives me regular discounts and whatnot—”

“Oh? Someone else is giving you discounts and you didn’t tell me?” Asami teases.

“Well, yeah, but he’s not as cute as you so—” she catches herself, wondering just where that came from as her hands and back tense. “I mean…hey, maybe he’s working today! I can see about getting you a discount, too!”

Korra steps towards the registers, silently grumbling at herself for the embarrassing slip-up and hoping to god that Asami didn’t register it; she hazards a glance towards her just in time to catch pink leaving her cheeks, and Korra can’t believe how bad she is at this.

“Not as cute as who?” 

Korra’s attention snaps over to the register, and she’s greeted by Iroh flashing her a clever grin. His jet black hair is gelled up and over, the sides of his hair faded to give a better view of his sharp cheeks; his outfit, which consists of a guitar pick necklace and a striped black button-down, absolutely screams ‘music hipster’.

Embarrassment tugs further at her expression as Asami giggles beside her. “You were there the whole time, Iroh?”

Iroh huffs a bit of a chuckle as he leans on the counter. “Sorry, Korra. Just wanted to mess with you.” Then, his eyes dart to Asami, and he gives her a much more professional smile with the confidence Korra wishes she could muster. “I’m Iroh. I’m guessing you’re Korra’s friend who’s cuter than me?”

“Seriously? Can we drop that?” Korra grumbles under her breath, far too tense right now to be receptive to Iroh’s mild teasing.

Asami, instead, shifts her weight onto one hip and returns the confident smile. “I suppose so. I’m Asami, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes dart quickly around the shop, lingering for a moment on the wall of CD’s and records. “I’ve never been to a music café before. This place is so cool!”

Iroh smiles at the compliment, and the two of them fall into an easy conversation—albeit a little bit one-sided on Iroh’s part given how passionately he can talk about Zuko, about the shop, about the music they have, asking what kind of music Asami likes, rambling about his favourite music, wondering when her and Korra started dating—

“Hold on,” Korra butts in anxiously, at the same time damming the other conflicted and confused emotions she’s actually feeling at the question behind stone in her mind. “We’re not actually dating.”

There’s an immediate stillness and the three of them freeze over as their eyes dart between each other, awkward looks of confusion firing off between them. Korra feels her heart thumping like a drum in her chest, and she can’t tell if it’s from her sudden defensiveness or the way those words leave a stale taste in her mouth.

“Right.” Asami’s single-word response unfreezes the world, unshackles Korra from her own mind for just a moment. Her voice is smooth and confident, but Korra can’t help but linger on the way her eyebrows raise when she looks at her (nor can she help but notice the flush of pink in her cheeks). “Korra just wanted to show me this place since I’d never been to a music café.”

“Yeah!” Korra butts in, maybe a little too enthusiastically, but Korra’s never been the best at just dropping awkward situations. “As friends!”

Asami presses her lips together in a bit of a forced smile. Iroh quirks an eyebrow questioningly at Korra. Korra wishes she could go back in time and say literally anything else. Of course, that’s not exactly an option, so she mentally kicks herself quickly and figures actually ordering something might do to break the tension.

“Anyways, I’ll have the usual. Oh, and two headphones.” She leans over to Asami and tells her: “That’s to listen to the music we don’t actually buy.”

It takes a bit of a moment for Asami to shake herself from her current expression, but she does and her eyes shift over to Korra again with an awkward grin. “Right. Noted.” 

Korra leans in close, trying hopefully to pull away from the tension. “Sorry. Do you need a moment to choose?”

Asami nods as her eyes shift up to the menu above Iroh’s head before falling back to him. “What would you recommend? Anything special for this place?”

Iroh nods and directs her attention back up to the menu, talking her through some of the options. Korra listens in, though can’t shake the voices in her own head chastising her for literally everything she’s done so far. The staring. The daydreaming. The invasion of her personal space. Her defensiveness about this being a date when _clearly_ it’s just two friends getting coffee at a hip music café while one of them tries to figure out if she can even like girls.

The answer is obvious, and she hates that it’s obvious, that it’s an answer that’s been swirling in her head for enough time already but that she shies away from. She’s Korra, she knows _exactly_ who she is, and she can’t take the rush of this realisation like crashing waves against a dam. Change is hard enough to accept, and this is a big change, and it’s a wonderful change she feels undeserving of.

It’s so easy to slip into her own anxieties, but Asami’s voice once again brings her back to the moment. “Well, I think I’m ready to order.”

Korra blinks away her overwhelming thoughts and nods to Asami. “Great! Awesome!”

Right now, she could be anything but, but Asami’s smiling and her heart’s racing and she’s got to find some way to fix the uncomfortable situation she’s created. They pay and wait for their drinks in uncomfortable, strained silence. Korra’s eyes move around the shelves of records and CD’s, trying even from a distance to distract her gaze away from Asami, who she’s sure must think Korra’s some crazy-forceful date—

But it’s _not_ a date, and she has to remind herself of that one more time, one more time to push back against something she’s still so unsure about, one more time to realize denying it is getting harder every time.

“Drinks for Asami and Korra,” Iroh says in just enough time for Korra to not be brimming with humiliation, passing their drinks over the counter to them, along with two pairs of black headphones.

“Thanks,” Korra says as she takes her headphones and immediately brings her drink to her mouth while turning away, trying not to let her gaze wander back to Asami.

“You two got any records you’re looking for? I know Korra’s seen most of what we have but I’m sure there’s something you’d like, too, Asami!” 

“You think? Well, I’m sure we’ll find something good!” Asami turns her attention to Korra, and Korra can just barely make out an excited grin and a quirked eyebrow out of her periphery. “I mean, only if you want to, Korra. You probably know everything that’s here.”

Korra swallows back nerves along with a large gulp of her drink. “Uh, yeah! Iroh’s family’s been collecting all kinds of music for years,” she tells Asami, finally mustering the courage to face her. “I guess I don’t really know what kind of music you listen to, though. What do you usually like?”

Asami’s presses her lips together in thought. “I don’t really know. Most of what I listen to at work is just whatever’s on the radio or my Daily Mix.” Then, in a smaller voice and with averted eyes, she adds: “I used to listen to a lot of classic rock, actually. Not so much anymore.”

Korra smiles brightly and turns to Iroh, an idea forming in her mind. “Hey, Iroh, do you still have ‘White Lotus’ for listening?”

“Pretty sure,” Iroh says with a shrug. 

“Perfect!” Korra turns on her heel and takes Asami’s hand in her own, hardly registering the act as she excitedly leads her to the CD racks. “They’re a really great band. Sort of a mix between, like, pop punk and classic rock, if you can believe it!”

“Kinda like Kyoshi Day?”

Korra stops in her tracks and turns her attention back to Asami, eyes wide in disbelief. “ _You_ listen to Kyoshi Day?”

Asami blushes sheepishly. “I used to, back in high school. My ex got me into them, really, but I still like them!”

“What else do you like? I bet Iroh has whoever you can think of!”

“Really?” Asami looks surprised, then her features soften as she lets Korra guide her. “I mean, I’ve always kinda been a fan of Jargala, too. Oh, and Harmonic Convergance!”

“Asami, why have you been hiding this from me?” Korra teases and finds it so easy to laugh again.

Asami flashes her an excited grin. "I didn't think anyone really listened to those bands. They were kind of a bit much, even back in my high school days. Though, really, enough people said that about me back then, too."

Korra leads her the rest of the way to the racks and begins immediately searching for the names Asami’s listed. "I get that. Been hearing the 'you're a lot to deal with' sentiment most of my life. I'm almost used to it, even!" Her attention turns back to the CD's on the shelf, her finger skating along every plastic spine as she silently mutters the album names. Seriously, though, that shit was my _jam_ in high school! I guess something about angry dudes singing angry lyrics helped a dumb, angry teen like me."

Asami takes a look, too, scanning the sleeves and covers before landing on one of Kyoshi Day’s earlier albums and sliding it out. "Believe me, I know exactly how it feels. Teenage Asami Sato? Total punk."

An easy chortle escapes Korra's lips and her heart races at the notion that Asami might actually like this kind of music and that she gets to share it with her over coffee; it's better than trying to force awkward conversation or force down stolen glances. "I don't believe you. I can _not_ believe you!"

"Cause I'm a pretty face who can easily carry you and who has five tattoos?" Asami tilts one of her eyebrows up quizzically and pulls her lower lip between her teeth for a moment just long enough to make Korra's cheek flash a hot red.

Against her better judgement (and maybe against her achingly fast heartbeats), Korra leans into the blush, into the coy teasing that's been started. "Well, I'd believe you more if you'd showed me more than just the one tattoo."

"Well, I _could_ show you another, but usually the people who get to see that one are more than friends." 

_More than friends,_ Korra posits to herself, and soon finds that she's so much more curious now than before. Maybe a bit too much, as her heart beats in her ears like a raucous drum solo and her skin almost feels like it's been set ablaze. But of course she _really_ shouldn't be entertaining this notion, not when she has to remind herself that this is _not_ a date (and every time she reminds herself of it, the harder it is to enjoy her time here).

Asami purses her lips as a red blush overtakes her face and she tugs a long black nail at the corner of her mouth. "Okay, so would you believe me more if I said I still know all the words to 'Broken Spirit Boulevard'?" Asami retorts smartly, a faint bit of pride colouring her words. "I even owned black lipstick, if that's easier to believe."

Korra looks over at Asami and her mind quickly wanders to the image of Asami, as she is, but with black lipstick on her lips. It's such a good luck in her head, Korra has to swallow back the nerves bundling her tongue in her dry mouth, though it gets a little harder when she imagines maybe what that lipstick might look like on her cheeks, or on her—

"Korra!" Asami calls out, and Korra's so thankful for it. Her vision refocuses to see Asami displaying a CD to Korra and raising her eyebrows expectantly. "Look! They have my favourite album!"

It takes her a moment to reboot her brain and body, and when she does she feels that anxiety tugging at her chest again. She stands stiffly and smiles maybe a bit too wide. "Awesome! Let's give it a listen!"

She brings Asami over where a couple of comfortable chairs and sofas are set out beside small side tables each holding up a record player, radio, CD player, or dock. This time, she doesn't pay attention to the look of excitement and fascination and nostalgia gracing Asami's features, instead choosing to focus on her own excitement at getting to finally listen to some music. She goes over to her favourite spot—the old blue chair just underneath the curtained window—and sets the CD in the player before quickly plugging hers and Asami’s headphones in.

“And now,” Korra says, letting herself fall back into the chair, “we enjoy the coffee and the music.”

“So you just come here and hang out with coffee and music?” Asami wonders, taking a seat on the opposite side of the small table.

Korra offers her a strenuously nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, basically. Come here often enough and Iroh will start giving you music suggestions, though. He’s usually pretty spot-on. Who needs SpotMix, anyways!”

“Good coffee, good music,” Asami hums thoughtfully. “I think this place might just have a new regular.” Then, her eyes dip and she brushes a few strands of loose hair behind her ear. “And that’s not even mentioning how great the company is.”

Korra’s cheeks flare up and she chuckles anxiously. “I mean, there’s lots of cool people here. I’m sure you’ll get to know a lot of the other regulars soon enough!”

“Right. Lots of good friends to hang out with,” Asami murmurs, letting her hand fall from the side of her head back into her lap. There's something about the way she susurrates the word 'friends' that feels almost like a bit of a sting, though probably not intentionally; Korra knows how easily words can pierce her otherwise stony exterior when she wants them to be something else. 

Asami clears her throat. “So, uh, this music’s not gonna play itself, huh?”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Korra presses the play button, and the first track on the album sounds off as Korra tries to find some way to relax her heart’s racing.

Asami slips her headphones on, sitting with a straight back and self-conscious poise, her eyes darting between Korra and her coffee. It takes her a moment, it seems, to find herself comfortable, but the chorus plays over their headphones and Asami soon falls back into the music, letting her shoulders slouch forward and her lips curl around the words of the current song without speaking them.

Korra’s gaze softens as she watches Asami relax back into the chair, seeing her get lost in the music like Korra’s done so many times. It’s so easy to fall back into the sound, she thinks, whether the sound is heavy drums and shredding guitar or soft ukulele and a voice like a whisper. It’s like an ocean to her, and she’s drifting thoughtlessly, aimlessly, calmly in a way she can’t be otherwise.

But this is different, and that difference draws at the back of Korra’s mind like a stone beneath her or a gust of wind that’s just a bit too forceful. The waves crest above her as she lies there, surrounded by the music and yet unable to fall back into that same trance. Feelings, thoughts, words she’s heard muttered behind her back and shouted to her face and some of these words are the ones she’s told herself in the mirror for years; those are the hardest to brace against.

Soon, the music takes a backseat, and once again Korra’s lost in her own mind, her own thoughts, and looking at Asami is the most confusing blend of longing and shame. She tries to find the lyrics and the drums and guitar again, tries to latch onto something familiar and not nearly as confusing as Asami, not nearly as confusing as her own mind. Not nearly as confusing as the fluttering in her chest when her eyes dip to Asami’s lips, curved into a pleasant smile, and not as confusing as the turbulence in her gut when she wonders if she’s allowed to think about how soft her lips might be.

 _Find the music_ , she reminds herself, but it becomes harder every time. She can’t tear away from the bliss of looking at Asami, of thinking about that night she spent in her bed and the smell of her place in the morning. Of the gentle smile she offered Korra when she made her coffee and how soft her hand felt when she brushed against it. Of how easily words and notes came to her one afternoon when she could only think about seeing Asami again.

And now she’s seeing her, and it’s enough to still send her mind into a sizzling frenzy of thoughts and doubts.

She peels her eyes away from Asami, anchoring her gaze and her thoughts to the cup of coffee in her hands. It’s something, at least.

“Korra?”

Korra looks over to Asami and moves her headphones off her ears. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Asami asks her, leaning over the side table with a concerned smile.

“Yeah, totally okay!” Korra says in her most confident attempt at calmness. “I guess I’m just a little nervous.” It may be the understatement of the century, but she sticks with it.

Asami’s cheeks go a little red and she pulls her drink closer into her chest. “I get that. I’m a little nervous, too.”

“You are?” Korra asks in astonishment.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been wanting to see you again for a while, and I’ve kinda been nervous of…you know…” She falls back into the chair and clenches her teeth, sucking in a hiss of air before saying: “Nervous of fucking this up, really.”

“Wait, _you’ve_ been scared of fucking this up?” Korra’s eyes go wide and she leans closer. “Dude, I’ve been the one fucking this up the moment I got here!”

Asami looks shocked, and then embarassed, and she brings her hand up to her forehead with a nervous chuckle. “You’re fine, Korra. Mostly. I guess I kinda just missed the memo that this wasn’t a _date_ date. I'm sorry, I probably could've made this all so much less awkward.”

Korra frowns; she’s been trying her hardest to think of it as not a date, and here the two of them are realizing just how twisted it all is, just how absolutely _humiliatingly_ Korra’s fucked up on her own. Clearly, Asami's into her. Wildly, somehow, Asami Sato, the woman she met a few days ago and who she literally _hasn't_ had a moment of respite from in her mind, is into her. And there's something about realising that that puts Korra at some new kind of ease, the kind that she latches onto with lyrics and poems and relief, all the while surrounding her in the same bubbling pool of doubts and second thoughts she's so prone to.

(She totally should've seen it coming, too; after all, beautiful girls don't just do sexy lip bites like Asami's done several times now to any random punk they meet.)

That achingly familiar twinge of dismay and disappointment pangs in her chest, and she lets her eyes fall. Somewhere in that maelstrom of wild, frantic thoughts and doubts is Asami, or at least how she feels about her (how she thinks she feels about her?), and right now she needs to figure out at least part of it. She owes it to Asami.

“If this were a date,” Korra begins, “I’d say I’m sorry for being the worst and I’d ask if there’s any way to salvage this mess.”

Asami’s lips purse in thought. “Well, if this were a date, I’d say I’m sorry for being so shy and nervous, and I’d say I’d love to try this again.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone. “I’d also maybe ask if I could get your number. If this were a date, and we wanted to try going out again, it’d be easier to text you than to just have you phone my shop.”

“Right, of course,” Korra chuckles, reaching out for Asami’s phone to put her number in before passing it back. “If this were a date, of course,” she adds, “I’d say ‘I can’t wait to text you later’.”

“I’d say ‘I’ll text you as soon as work’s done’, and I’d tell you all about how boring the rest of the day was and how much I enjoyed seeing you again,” Asami replies with a giggle, and it comes to her so easily that Korra can’t help but lean forward and let out a laugh of her own.

“I’d stay up all night texting you, and I’d probably overshare way too much about my life,” Korra continues. “I might say something about how we’re going on-tour, about how pretty you looked today, about how I can’t wait for our next date—”

“Of course, if this were a date—”

“Because it’s not.” Korra’s smile falls a little bit, and she once again pulls away from Asami back into the chair.

“Because you’re not into girls,” Asami guesses, or rather, she comments, and something about those words doesn’t sit right (and of course Korra knows what it is, but shame is more powerful than it has any right to be, and right now it’s powerful enough to keep her mouth shut).

When she is able to speak again, it’s not with the lightness she had before; her voice feels heavy, leaden, even as the words spill from her mouth and tumble to the floor. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t waste anything. I enjoyed seeing you again no matter what, Korra,” Asami tells her, though her tone betrays some disappointment. "I'd really like to be friends, Korra. Honestly."

Korra nods but remains uncomfortably silent. Asami’s eyes turn away from Korra and to her phone, and her expression shifts.

“I probably should be getting back to work,” she murmurs, and Korra isn’t sure whether to lament not getting to spend more time with her or breathe a sigh of abashed relief.  
Asami pockets her phone and slips her headphones off, setting them on the side table before standing; Korra follows suit.

“Can I, like, walk you to your car or something?” She’s not entirely sure where it comes from—maybe she just feels guilty for being such horrible company—but she’s relieved when Asami smiles at her. 

“Sure.”

With one word, Korra feels at least some semblance of hope that things might be simpler than she’s making them out to be. She walks with Asami to her car, the two of them exchange hurried, awkward, sincere goodbyes, and Korra sits in her car for the next twenty-something minutes thinking about literally every way she managed to be the worst date ever without ever acknowledging that calling herself Asami’s ‘date’ doesn’t sit badly in her mind like it did that morning. 

By the time she turns the keys in the ignition and gets ready to go home, her coffee is cold and her mind’s already been made up.

* * *

Korra’s been staring at the text on her phone for well over ten minutes now.

 _‘Hey Korra!’_ it reads, and she can even hear it in Asami’s voice. _‘Well, work is done now. Slow day, as usual.’_

Korra groans and picks up her phone, gets ready to tap out a response, groans again, and puts the phone back down. Right now, she wishes she could just pick up her guitar and sing all of these thoughts and feelings and pains out into a song. She wouldn’t even have to speak anything; instead, she’d already have a song written about what she wants to say, and she'd play the right chords to make it sound as sweet or as melancholic or as excited as she wants it to.

Of course, she’s not living in some rock opera world, and that text screen is staring up at her, prompting her to respond. And not to completely bungle it up with the same embarrassing things she said earlier today, of course.

Instead, she picks up her phone and types in Bolin’s number; she waits barely one ring before he answers, and she almost immediately regrets her decision.

“So? How was it?” Bolin prompts over the phone, and she wishes she could get annoyed at how excited he sounds.

No, she’s annoyed at herself and, more specifically, her answer. “Bolin, it was _so awkward._ I’m the worst! I kept being a total idiot and fucking everything up!”

“I’m sure that’s not right,” Bolin tells her.

“You weren’t there! You didn’t see how awkward I was!” She slumps against her couch with a frustrated groan. “I couldn’t even have one conversation without saying ‘oh it’s not a date’ or ‘oh we’re just friends’ or dumb shit like that.”

“Sounds like you regret it not being a date.” God, she can practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“Well, I—she—look, Bolin, you know it’s not that easy,” Korra admits with a sigh, and sure, maybe to anyone else it actually is that easy, but nothing’s easy with Korra; she’s had that hammered into her mind enough times to really believe it, too. “And now she’s trying to text me and I have no idea what to say—”

“Hold up, back up, rewind a little bit: she’s _texting_ you?”

“Yeah, I mean, I gave her my number at the Jasmine Dragon—"

“Korra! My god, she’s really texting you!” Bolin whoops. “She likes you, and she wants to see you again! Stop getting in your own head about it!”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” she snaps into the phone, and then recoils at the fire in her own voice. She’s never yelled at Bolin like this—fire and vitriol like this are usually reserved for those she already has bad blood with—and the silence on Bolin’s end speaks volumes about how out of place it is, how alien it sounds and feels.

She lets out a cooling sigh and lets the heat flicker out from her skin and her mind. “I’m sorry, Bolin. I didn’t mean that.”

There’s a moment of taught silence where Bolin doesn’t speak, and when he does it’s in a smaller voice. “Korra, I’m only trying to help you. Believe me, I’ve been where you are. I know it’s scary.”

“I’m not scared,” Korra rebuts carefully, aware of her own words like an echo and of the cracks in their voices.

Bolin sighs heavily. “You and I both know that’s bull.”

“Ok, so maybe I am scared!” Her voice crumbles and her head falls back and she can already feel the dam breaking behind her eyes, can feel the rush of tears before they even fill the corners of her eyes. “I’ve been so sure of myself for so long. It’s scary to change how you think of yourself, how you think back on who you used to be. I can’t help but get in my own head about, not when everyone’s been trying to tell me who I’m supposed to be for my entire life.” 

Then, she pulls forward and brings one knee up to prop her chin on and adds quietly: “Or maybe I’m just scared I’m just fucked up beyond hope. I can't even say I'm bi without questioning it and everything about myself. Why does this have to be so hard? Why is everything a defence mechanism with me? Or a second thought or wave of doubts? I hate that I can't just be easy.” Her chest clenches around her heart and her throat constricts; this is the first time she's been able to admit it to herself, that maybe she's not who she so confidently believed for so long believes she is, that there's still more to discover about herself. It's hard to say it out loud, so maybe that's why she keeps it inside.

There’s another beat of silence, and Korra can’t stand not hearing Bolin’s voice as her own thoughts overcome her. She’s been burned before, burned by the fire of arguments with her parents over what she wants to do and who she wants to be. By the sparks flung between her and Mako over and over and over again until any semblance of what they may have once been has been reduced to ash in their mouths. By every single doubt she’s ever had that’s been reinforced by the people who call her ‘reckless’ and ‘intense’ and ‘a lot to deal with’. It’s so hard to not feel like she’s coming apart the more she thinks about how messed up she must be.

“Well,” Bolin begins gently, breaking the silence and tempering the storm of thoughts in her head for a brief moment, “do you really think that's any reason to give up on letting yourself be happy? I mean, Asami's into you, right?"

Korra pouts. “She picked the wrong girl to be interested in. I’m a mess.”

“Maybe you are. You’ve still got a lot to work on, I know. But you’re not ‘fucked up’, and if Asami likes what she sees—the Korra that messed up her date,” he pauses, as if in wait for her rebuttal that it’s not a date, but she’s long since given up thinking she wouldn’t want it to be, “—then don’t you think she deserves at least one text from you? After all, try as you might to deny it, you're into her, too. Easy or not, doubts or no doubts, you deserve to be happy, Korra. And she deserves a text back from you. Even if you were a total dork today.”

Her answer is quick, at least to herself. Yes. Yes, she likes Asami. How much, she doesn’t know. What kind of ‘like’ this is, maybe she’s still figuring that part out. But she likes Asami, and she’d be lying if she didn’t get butterflies in her stomach thinking that Asami likes her (and those butterflies just flutter more energetically at the thought that Asami might like her that way, that oh-so confusing way she wishes were easier to understand for herself). 

“Of course,” she says to Bolin.

“Then I think you have your answer.” He lets out a long exhale, but she can almost hear the smile in his breath. “You’ve got this. Just talk to her, and don’t let yourself worry about a thing. I’m sure she won’t.”

“Right, yeah,” Korra murmurs. Her shoulders relax and for once she doesn’t feel like she’s about to drown in her own tears. “Thanks, Bolin. Love ya, bud.”

“Love you, too, bud.” With that, Bolin hangs up, and Korra is left with her phone in-hand and another text from Asami.

She goes to her texts to read it. _‘Anyways, hope your day was good.’'Listened to more Kyoshi Day back in the shop. I might be a little obsessed again!'_

Korra swallows back the tide of thoughts and feelings brewing in her head and begins typing her response. With a shaky breath, she hits send, and her heart races when she sees Asami typing out her own reply seconds later.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey fam!! Sorry for the late update, summer kinda killed my writing vibe and it only came back once uni started, so free time for writing has been sparse. Nevertheless, I've been so excited to keep writing this fic so expect this one to keep going with updates, even if they're a little spaced out. Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story, I'd love to hear from y'all about what you liked! 
> 
> Also yes the Coffee Mug song is original and now I totally wanna record it.


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